


The Mind Palace Aglow

by alyxpoe



Series: Walking the Mind Palace [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bottom!Lock, Epilogue, John's has a voice kink, M/M, Not quite PWP, Sex, Sexy Times, Sherlock's Voice, a bit of rimming, loving consensual blowjobs, men having sex, men kissing, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Alters. You and me, in there. In the mind palace are alters. I look like…me. Only sometimes my clothes are different. But you…you are radiant.” This time Sherlock does thrust upward into John’s talented mouth but a slight scrape of teeth reminds him to be patient. He rests his hands on John’s head, not pushing or pulling, allowing his fingertips the pleasure of being caressed by the strands of John’s wheat-and-silver hair. His spine is arched now, legs supported by John’s shoulders...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mind Palace Aglow

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hemming and hawing over this for a week. It was to be the last chapter of Within and Without, but I wasn't sure if it 'matched' the feeling of the rest of the piece, but it needed 'closure.' So here you go, please be reminded that I'm pretty terrible at writing smut ;)

**Epilogue**

**A Quiet Night at Home (Or: John is Clever, Too)  
**

Tonight the mind palace is a warm, comforting place…as soft as a well-worn blanket that drapes around his consciousness and holds everything together—the dark and the light of his soul. Sherlock rests in his virtual chair, legs crossed at the ankles, hands relaxed on the armrests. His eyes are closed; he doesn’t need to see the soft, golden light that permeates the place. For once, the mirrored walls are dark, silent: it’s just the two of them. Doctor/Warrior John is behind him, casually running his strong, sure fingers through the curls on Sherlock’s head; as he reaches the end of each one, there’s a slight snag and it bounces free.

Sherlock stretches his legs now, long toes curling in the deep pile of the royal purple carpet beneath them. He sits forward some, enough to bow his head. Doctor/Warrior John leans forward and brushes his lips against Sherlock’s neck.

The deepest, most primal part of Sherlock’s consciousness registers the cool-hot-cool feeling of the chain mail John wears against his chest as it presses against his bare back. There’s something oddly comforting to know that the love of his life wears armor; in truth by keeping John’s heart safe it protects both of them.

In the real world, Sherlock is on his knees in the shower, facing the faucet. The steam from the cascade creates a finely-spun cocoon and tamps their world down to a population of two. Real life John is very much caressing the top of Sherlock’s head, gently coaxing woodsy-scented shampoo into a frothy cap. John is humming, the sound echoing off the mint green tiles that surround them.

As uncomfortable as the enamel beneath his knees may be, Sherlock’s body vibrates pleasurably with his lover’s ministrations. He leans up into the sensation and curls his fingers around the tops of John’s feet at the same time, then turns his head left and right in order to get the feeling right where he wants it. John chuckles, pauses his humming and places a hand against the back of Sherlock’s neck to urge him to bend under the spray.

Sherlock goes willingly as if in supplication to John’s graces.

Which, in his mind, he is and will forever be.

“Come on, let’s get you dry,” John states as he reaches over and turns off the water.

Sherlock shakes his head, clear droplets falling to the floor between them like stolen kisses. He pushes himself up to stand before John, open, vulnerable. As always, John smiles and tosses a small towel at his head, then wraps a big one around Sherlock’s hips.

“I can do that myself,” Sherlock grumbles, the first words he has spoken in half an hour.

John merely gives him a crooked grin as he towels himself off. When he leaves the bathroom, Sherlock can’t resist whipping the towel in his hands towards John’s muscular behind; naturally he misses.

John is already stretched out on Sherlock’s bed when Sherlock arrives, flat on his back with his arms crossed beneath his head. He has kicked down the duvet and Sherlock would love to explain to him how his still-slightly-tanned skin faintly glows against the black satin sheets.

Only he really doesn’t have the right descriptive skills for that at the moment, because his eyes rest on John’s quite prominent erection. John quirks his lips up in a smart-alecky manner, tracing the length of Sherlock’s torso with those sapphire gems that never cease to hold the detective’s attention.

Sherlock drops the towel from his hips to the floor and promptly forgets all about it.

Sherlock tacks another little postie-note, this one neon yellow, in the “Ask John” room of the mind palace. There are so many of these hanging about that it takes him a moment to find a spot for it.

“Sherlock, tell me.” John says softly as he casually strokes himself once, twice.

Sherlock inhales, stares at the hand wrapped around John’s cock then back to his face and back to his cock…it is starting to make him feel a bit dizzy.

“Tell me where you go,” John states again, this time a little louder. “Describe it to me.”

Sherlock tilts his head like a bird listening for the wriggle of a worm underground. “Why would you want to know?” He climbs up onto the mattress, slowly dragging his chest over John until he stops, resting on his hands and looking down into John’s face.

John thinks for a few seconds, “Because it must be phenomenal in there, Sherlock, for all the times that you escape into it…”

“I don’t _escape_ , John.” Sherlock frowns then pokes his nose into John’s hairline.

“Sherlock, are you sniffing me?” John’s used to the eccentric-ness, so he’s not going to be put off this time.

Sherlock mumbles something against John’s forehead.

In retaliation, John grabs two handfuls of plush Sherlocky arse, squeezes and oh-so-slowly thrusts in order to grind their hips together.

Sherlock groans against John’s forehead and makes a delicate swipe with his tongue. He thrusts back but John stills his hips by tightening his grip.

“Please, Sherlock, would you share it with me? Enlighten me.” John whispers into Sherlock’s ear as Sherlock tilts his head to lick at John’s neck; the wet curls on Sherlock’s head drip onto John’s collarbone, causing a small rivulet to run down his shoulder. He hisses at the feeling of teeth clamping into the side of his neck, just a nip really. John wraps one leg around Sherlock’s hip and kisses Sherlock. Their lips barely touch at first, then one of Sherlock’s big hands presses at the back of his head and he takes the initiative to lick at Sherlock’s mouth, requesting entrance.

Sherlock is firmly holding John’s head in place now, his spine curled and knees near John’s chest, squatting on him, John’s cock against the crack of his arse. Because he can, he raises up on his thighs and rubs himself on John.

John takes a break in plundering Sherlock’s mouth, exhales and says, “Talk to me.” He laps at Sherlock’s neck and deftly flips them, loving the feeling of Sherlock’s thighs tightening on his hips as he shifts. When he looks up again, the detective’s eyes are closed and his hands are now resting on John’s shoulders.

John moves downward now, punctuating soft kisses with tiny tongue swipes all the way down Sherlock’s chest. He pushes Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders. When he kisses the weeping head of Sherlock’s cock, Sherlock’s eyes open and he starts to move his legs.

“Stay here with me, Sherlock. Tell me.” John orders, this time mouthing at Sherlock’s balls.

Sherlock’s breathing hitches a little and all the muscles in his legs tighten. “Alright, I will if you will.”

John likes the spark in Sherlock’s eyes; it’s an opening salvo, a new type of competition and he doesn’t need to be told _see how long you can make me talk_ …as if shutting Sherlock up has ever really been a problem. John raises both eyebrows in agreement. Sherlock arches his back, presses his cock against John’s chin, but his mouth stays closed.

So does John’s.

Sherlock smirks, “well, I had to try.”

John very slowly runs his finger between Sherlock’s glorious glutes and Sherlock shivers.

“Ah,” states the genius and decides it’s in his best interests to start talking. “Your rooms are beautiful, John.”

John smiles, gingerly sucks at the tip of Sherlock’s cock then slowly moves his head down, letting his lover’s prick fill his mouth. _No_ , he thinks _, this is beautiful_.

“And you, you are there,” Sherlock pauses to exhale. John can see him fighting to stay in the moment, he sucks a bit harder. Sherlock nods.

“…but it isn’t really you, like I’m not really me…it’s more like we are…”Sherlock struggles a bit, looking for the right word. “Icons, no that’s not it…avatars…” he huffs out a long sigh as John does some marvelous twirly thing with his tongue, “God, John.”

John pulls off, licks his lips. “Nope, just John.”

“Don’t stop.” Sherlock barks.

John waits until he opens his eyes. “You either.”

Sherlock nods as John returns to what he was doing, only this time he’s carefully massaging Sherlock’s balls as he sucks.

“Alters. You and me, in there. In the mind palace are alters. I look like…me. Only sometimes my clothes are different. But you…you are _radiant_.” This time Sherlock does thrust upward into John’s talented mouth but a slight scrape of teeth reminds him to be patient. He rests his hands on John’s head, not pushing or pulling, allowing his fingertips the pleasure of being caressed by the strands of John’s wheat-and-silver hair. His spine is arched now, legs supported by John’s shoulders, his cock buried in John’s throat and talking is already becoming difficult.

Sherlock knows what John is doing and the awareness of John’s crafty mind heightens the physical pleasure. John is giving Sherlock _more_ : allowing his body to experience the spark of John’s touches, while his mind is lit by those same sparks from within.

The corridors are aglow, every copper sconce without a cover, the flames dancing joyfully as Sherlock lays back against the huge bed. Doctor/Warrior John grins wolfishly at him from between his legs and Sherlock throws his head back and parts his lips, his whole being ready to escape on a primal scream.

John lets Sherlock’s now throbbing cock slip out of his mouth and he nips at the backside of Sherlock’s thigh. The scream is caught on a whimper.

Sherlock continues talking, seamlessly moving between reality and the mind palace as if he were sitting in the lab, but there’s a new edge to everything John is doing and Sherlock embraces it, allows it to ground him to the moment.

When the pad of John’s finger makes a pass over the furled entrance of his hole and then is followed by the moist heat of John’s tongue, Sherlock babbles and pants. “Oh God, John! Oh my God…that’s…that’s…I don’t even know. What’s that word you used last week? Oh! Exquisite! That’s exquisite! Don’t stop, please, whatever you want to know! It’s my John…mind palace John…only he’s a warrior, he wears chain mail and…oh fuck…oh damn….”

Sherlock’s back arches when John switches tongue for finger and hits Sherlock’s prostate on the first try. It is getting harder and harder to concentrate. Sherlock closes his jaw with a snap, swallows against a throat suddenly gone dry and still a little whimper escapes him as John’s mouth is back on his stiff prick and John’s fingers—now there are two of them—are inside Sherlock; the slow drag of _everything_ moving in tandem almost makes him forget where he is.

Except for the fact that Sherlock never loses, he would almost raise a white flag right now, only it wouldn’t exactly be a _flag_ that would be white…Sherlock looks back down at John, lays his palm over John’s head and clutches at the sheet with the other one. He thrusts and John pulls back a little, readjusts and wraps the fingers of his other hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock.

John is half-kneeling now and Sherlock thinks the position must be uncomfortable. He decides to keep talking.

“My John in the mind palace, he is doing the same to alter me…” a moan is torn from his chest when John twists his fingers _just so_. He can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to keep his lips wet enough to speak.

John is amused at the way Sherlock’s language skills have begun to break down and so incredibly turned on that he half-wishes he had another hand.

“The…the…mind palace…I have _rooms_ , John. There’s a room for you, one for my cases and…” he moans again as John keeps up the mind-mushing rhythms. “I have a room that’s just for…asking you…asking you…oh my god John I’m going to…questions….”

Sherlock comes, the orgasm taking him by surprise by its suddenness. He throws his head back and the primal scream that was bit back earlier finally makes its appearance. John slows his fingers, but doesn’t stop. Sherlock’s hips thrust upward twice more, the last time more weakly than the first two and it seems to him like he’s falling back to earth.

John swallows around Sherlock’s cock, basking in the knowledge that Sherlock can allow himself to fall to pieces in John’s hands. John eases his fingers out, whispering sweet nothings to his lover, whose legs tremble on John’s shoulders. He starts to move over Sherlock and drop to his side but every movement he makes is being cataloged if Sherlock’s intense expression is anything to go by.

“Come here,” Sherlock says, slightly parting his lips and yanking at any part of John he can reach. “I’m done for, but let me…” he gestures at John’s weeping, so red it’s almost purple cock then pats his chest.

John stares, slightly disbelieving.

“Yes, John. I want to suck your cock, but the transport needs a bit of recovery from that absolutely fantastic climax.”

John doesn’t need to be asked twice. He quickly maneuvers himself so that he is now straddling Sherlock, his hands on the headboard, knees on either side of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock leans up and forward, opens his mouth and looks up at John.

The first sizzle of his own orgasm runs down his spine and turns into an ember somewhere deep in his core. One of Sherlock’s hands cups his balls, tugs lightly. John gently guides himself into Sherlock’s mouth, using the headboard for balance.

Jesus Christ, that mouth. “Your mouth,” John mutters, watching his cock pass between those plush lips. The sight causes the ember to flare the way a fuse will eventually ignite a stick of dynamite. Sherlock smirks up at him, the entire thing ruined by the fact he’s got a dick in his mouth, but John’s breath catches anyway.

It takes virtually no time at all. As he rides the crest of his climax, with each bob of his head, Sherlock clutches at his arse and pushes him forward, so that he is practically sitting on Sherlock’s face. Sherlock slows his pace as John comes, but relentlessly continues sucking then licking until John can’t take any more.

“You are going to kill me, Sherlock,” John pants, crossing his arms on the headboard and dropping his head down to them.

Sherlock caresses his thighs, licks at his groin and John can’t believe it but he thinks Sherlock, “…just cleaned me up?” he gets out.

Sherlock only hums and John really can’t stay this way any longer, if he falls asleep like this, he’ll fall. He slowly shifts again until he’s stretched out at Sherlock’s side. He closes his eyes then opens them as Sherlock shimmies down until he’s wrapped around John and somehow managed to pull the duvet over them as well.

“That was amazing,” John says into his chest.

“Would you like to hear more?” Sherlock asks, his voice husky and deeper than usual.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“No, but you prefer it when I don’t assume…”

“Sherlock, I want to enjoy this orgasmic glow.” John mutters.

“Okay, I’ll let you sleep then,” Sherlock states blandly.

“No!” John starts to push himself up so he can look Sherlock in the face and make him understand.

“Shhh….” Sherlock says, tightening his hold. John can feel his smile against the top of his head. “Let me tell you, I’ve never told anyone before about any of this.”

“Alright,” John agrees, relaxing and letting all of his muscles go back to being mush. That’s what he is right now, he knows, a big squishy ball of mush especially when Sherlock does that _thing_ with his voice, making it gruffer and deeper than ever.

Sherlock whispers directly into John’s ear, “Thank you John,” and starts describing the various rooms of the mind palace. John falls asleep between the Unsolved Case Room and the Roman Bath and somehow misses the story about how Machine came to be. He’ll wake up in the morning satiated, in love and happy with strange pictures in the back of his mind that all seem to be glowing…and he won’t remember exactly what it all means, but he will know that between them, they’ve forged yet another unbreakable bond.

The last thing he knows for sure before firmly falling under the spell of the Sand Man is that the great detective whispers, “I love you.”

In the mind palace, Doctor/Warrior John pulls Sherlock’s cover up over his chest and kisses him then ruffles his hair. As Sherlock slips into sleep, he is comforted by the knowledge that Doctor/Warrior John has taken up his shield and stands facing away from the bed, ready to deal with any encroaching threat.

In their white noise of their bedroom in the heart of the great bustling metropolis, Sherlock winds himself around his favorite person in the world, allows his contentment to permeate ever cell in his body, hoping to pass some onto John and states simply, “I love you.”

After everything they’ve been through, it may be inadequate, but for once he feels confident enough that the sentiment will not be rejected. In his sleep, caged in Sherlock’s arms, John’s heart beats a little faster and Sherlock knows he’s been heard; that tiny reaction makes everything he’s done to protect John and keep him safe, all of it, even the parts he wishes he could take back…everything is worth it to have _this_ now.


End file.
